


Transfiguration

by lightningwaltz



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 16:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1191240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/pseuds/lightningwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn battle XV fic: <i>A half dozen responses tumble through Kenna’s mind, each more revealing than the last. Instead, she slides out of bed, standing beside Mary in darkness.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Transfiguration

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompts:** bed sharing, here for you, home, hurt/comfort
> 
> This wound up being more character study than porn, but it was really fun to write these two all the same!

Sometimes Kenna think the siege will follow her for the rest of her life. 

It’s absurd, and she knows it. The enemy troops are dead, poisoned. Their groping hands were cut off, and their jeering heads are on pikes somewhere. And yet she feels an apprehensive rot deep in her soul. That half day’s terror has been her persistent shadow. The knowledge of her own mortality sleeps beside her each night and each time the sun rises she’s the first among the ladies to find something to do. 

Anything that will steady her shaking hands.

Someone opens the door to Kenna’s chamber, and a shriek scratches its way out of her throat. This is it; the outside world has come for her, and it really doesn’t matter whether it’s Queen Catherine’s poisoners, or the endless, endless siege. She has nothing for a weapon, nothing but her own fragile hopes. 

“Kenna?” A tentative voice, rich as a stringed instrument. Even hidden in the shadows, Mary is recognizable by the sweep of her skirts. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I thought you were already asleep.” 

A half dozen responses tumble through Kenna’s mind, each more revealing than the last. Instead, she slides out of bed, standing beside Mary in darkness. 

“Did you think I would let you prepare for bed without assistance?” She reaches for her friend- her sovereign- and busies herself with the woman’s stays. 

“I was trying to avoid inconveniencing anyone,” Mary murmurs. “I know Bash and I were talking quite a while.” 

“So it’s to be King Sebastian, then?” With the removal of each article of clothing, it as though Mary transfigures beneath Kenna’s hands. From queen to girl. 

“King Henry and Nostradamus left me little choice.” Mary says it the way she makes all royal proclamations, but Kenna knows her well enough to discern the trace of doubt. 

She kisses Mary on the temple; something that would be much too forward by the light of day. But, then, Kenna has come to know a great deal about what goes on in palaces at night. 

“I know.” Beneath the words is that, despite everything, despite her earlier tirade, Kenna intends to stay beside Mary in this viper-infested court. Her queen takes Kenna’s hands, and squeezes them in mute gratitude. 

“No need to help me with my shift. I’ll be with you in a moment.” 

Ever since the siege, Mary’s ladies have begun sharing beds. Kenna finds that it’s a paper-thin shield against her fear, but the arrangement has its comforts all the same.

And it’s wonderful to feel Mary lay down beside her, just as it’s wonderful to know her friend is no longer at the mercies of an untamed forest. For tonight, at least, Kenna’s queen continues to draw breath.

“There wasn’t a moment in which I didn’t worry about you, and Lola, and Greer, and-” 

Aylee’s name hangs in the air, like a ghost. Kenna can see Mary clawing at the collar of her own shift. 

Kenna deliberates, and then pulls Mary into her arms like she’s done for the others in the past. Together they are a mess of cold shins and racing hearts. But Mary’s grip is strong, like she wants nothing more than to be Kenna’s armor. 

“Say something, Kenna. Please. I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts.” 

_It’s not right, what this court has done to you._ Kenna twirls a strand of Mary’s hair around her fingers, then tucks it behind the queen’s ear. 

“I think…” Kenna nudges in closer for this most treasonous of statements. Her lips scant inches from Mary’s. “I think we’re much the same. I think we’re both unspeakably tired of kings.” 

They both laugh, as though Kenna has told the funniest of all possible jokes. It’s another thing transfigured this night; dread into mirth. 

“I know the queen was accommodating while I was gone. How was King Henry’s behavior towards you?” Mary’s hand cups the side of Kenna’s face.

Kenna thinks on how Bash’s head would have tumbled into the straw on Henry’s orders.

“He was indifferent.” Her eyes close, and now she sees her name spelled out in firework; beautiful, incandescent, ash on the ground within minutes.

“It doesn’t matter. You are lovely, you will make a wonderful marriage, and I will never-“ Mary’s fingers dig into Kenna’s forearm- “never let Catherine or Diane harm you.” 

Vows from queens feel different than vows from other people, and Kenna’s body surges with someone other than terror. She’s become so accustomed to fear, that any other emotion feels foreign, holy. She’ll seek it out, as if she’s some sort of pilgrim.

She tilts her head up, and presses her lips to Mary’s. Her friend kisses back, with just as much ferocity as Kenna. Like she, too, is starving for affection. Like she, too, can never stop anticipating the siege. Their tongues slide together, and the women press into one another as though they would happily sink into each other’s bones. Their hands grasp at thin, nighttime clothing, and travel over shoulders, hips, and breasts. 

And Kenna wants nothing more than to bring Mary joy, even if it’s as fleeting as everything else in this life. She slips her hand between their bodies, underneath her queen’s shift, and then (and then!) between her queen’s legs. She breaks the kiss to watch the night’s third transfiguration. 

Beneath Kenna’s knowledgeable fingers, Mary’s pleasure seems to build and build. The bed shakes beneath her, and Kenna’s world shrinks to her sovereign and friend. When Mary climaxes she gasps nothing in particular. She looks stunned at her body’s own capacity of ecstasy, and sinks, boneless into the bed. There’s a sliver of moonlight across Mary’s forehead and when her eyes shut in a fluttering of dark eyelashes. Her face momentarily at peace. Kenna tries to memorize that precise expression. No matter what happens tomorrow, she will always have this moment. 

“You’re lovely, too,” she whispers. Unlike Mary, she can give no reasonable promises of protection. But she can offer up her love.


End file.
